


For the Win

by Stirfbot (certaintendencies)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/Stirfbot
Summary: "So how does it change?""Oh, well, one day, out of the blue, you confess your undying love for me."Matt grins. "What do I say?""So you come up to me, right? This is at the office - You come up to me - I'm at my desk - you come up to me, and you get down on your knees."Matt snorts."You're very catholic, and very dramatic," Foggy explains, "And this is just the type of thing that you do. So you're on your knees, and you turn your face up to me and you take my hand, and you say 'I, blind, tragically catholic Matt Murdock, must confess my feelings to you.'"
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	For the Win

"Oh no," Foggy whines under his breath, turning the thick, cream colored envelope over and letting its contents slip out onto the desk.

"What is it?" Karen asks, sidling closer to look.

"Tickets," Foggy says, slumping back into his creaky chair, head falling back dramatically. 

Karen flicks the corner of one to turn it so she can read it easier. "HC & B?" She asks.

"It's their stupid charity benefit, silent auction-" He waves a hand absently in the air. "Look at us we're all so rich thing they do. I bought the tickets forever ago, back when I was still there and Marci and I were still a thing."

"Oooh." Karen perches on the edge of Foggy's desk, facing him. She crosses her legs daintily and kicks him in the knee. "So who ya going with?"

"No one," Foggy says, sitting up and rubbing his knee, tilting his head to read the tickets. "I'm not going."

"Ah," Karen nods. "Cowardice."

"Ugh," Foggy drops his head back. "I have to go. If I don't go everyone will assume Marci won the break up and I'm afraid to show my face."

"Well," Karen shrugs. 

"It's true but they can't know that."

"Right." Leaning forward, Karen kicks Foggy in the leg again. "So who're you going with?"

Foggy squints one eye open, training it hopefully on Karen.

"Hmm," she says, which is not an outright rejection. Foggy snaps his fingers.

"Oh! That guy! That sleaze ball guy, uh whatshisface, Parsnip, Parsley-"

Eyes lighting up, Karen slaps a hand down on the tickets "Parsons?"

"Yes! He goes every year. You could totally corner him by the hor d'oeuvres and wheedle all kinds of dark secrets outta him."

"Ugh, yes, I'm in. He's too slimy to get a grip on anywhere else."

Foggy raises his arms in triumph, and Karen laughs, sweeping the tickets from Foggy's desk and pinning them to their office cork board with a flourish.

The office door swings open, and Matt taps his way inside before setting his cane in the corner. "What's up?" he asks, pulling the scarf from his neck.

"Karen and I are plotting a dastardly deception."

"Ah," Matt nods sagely and hangs up his scarf. 

He faces Karen for a few seconds and then turns his head vaguely Foggy-ward. "Any elaboration forthcoming, or is that all I get? Is it me you're deceiving?"

Grinning, Karen stands up from his desk and grabs Matt's arm. "Not you. Everyone at Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz. And State Senator Parsons. Foggy needs a date to show that Marci didn't win the break up, and I need a good angle to get at Parsons' soft, vulnerable underbelly."

"Gross!" Foggy says brightly, grinning.

"Yuck," Matt agrees, but frowns. "Win the… Foggy and Marci have lunch like twice a week. Pretty sure they're still having sex. It's barely even a break up, how could she have won it?"

"She got the firm in the divorce," Karen says sympathetically.

"We just made out a little that one time." Foggy supplies.

"...Date to what?" Matt decides to ask.

"Charity…" Foggy waves a hand. "Thing. Silent auction."

"Parsons will be there," Karen says, excitement clear in her voice. "I'm finally gonna nail him!"

Matt frowns thoughtfully. 

"You guys can't just go as friends?"

Karen whaps him on the shoulder. "That would be worse than going solo. He has to  _ win." _

"I don't…" Matt clears his throat. "I don't get it. Friends don't win?"

"Not this game, buddy. I need to show up happily in love with someone of equal or greater hotness than the lucky bastard Marci's currently, uh…  _ with." _

Karen snorts.

"Hush," Foggy says, a friendly warning in his voice.

Matt raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "Alright. Well. You do you, I guess."

"Oh I'm gonna do me," Foggy says, and Matt hears his chair creak as he leans back, followed by the quiet noise of the pads of his fingers tapping together rhythmically. "I'm gonna do me so freakin' hard they won't know what hit 'em."

Karen throws a paperclip at him, and Matt smiles as he heads into his office.

  
  


***

  
  


"Oh no," Foggy says as they step into the office. Matt would ask what the matter is, but he can already hear the wheeze in Karen's chest, the wet congestion of her breathing. "You look like you feel like shit," Foggy says delicately. 

Karen makes a pathetic, nasally noise, which is followed soon after by a thunk and a cascade of silky hair.

"Did she just bang her head against the desk?" Matt asks.

"Yep."

Karen groans into the wood of the desk, and Matt winces at the thick, rattling quality of it. "Speaking as someone who cares for you, and also as someone who can hear things in your lungs that shouldn't be there, please go to the doctor."

Karen groans again, and mumbles into the desk, something vague about a charity and winning, and Foggy scoffs.

"That thing absolutely does not actually matter, Page. You look like death. I can rock it solo, but I can't survive without you. Please get help. And soup. And maybe a nice, steamy shower."

"Do you need us to take you?" Matt asks, inching ever closer to the source of labored breathing.

"To the doctor," Foggy points out helpfully, daring to get even closer. "Not the shower." Matt hears Foggy's coat rustle, and Foggy's quick inhale through his teeth. "Jeeze, you're burning up."

"Parsons," Karen moans, though it sounds more like "Barsonds."

"You'll get him next time, Nancy Drew, come on," Foggy says, and Matt holds the door open and listens as Foggy guides a shuffling Karen back out of the office. "Honestly, why you even came in today I don't even know. Phones are a thing, you know."

"You were gonna win the break-up," Karen says mournfully. 

"I'll hire an escort, it's fine," Foggy dismisses, and Karen's snort of laughter turns into a coughing fit.

  
  


***

  
  


"Oh no," Foggy groans, dread clear in his tone even through the wall between their offices and masked by the opening notes of his ringtone.

Matt cocks his head, pausing his playback and plucking one side of his earbuds out. 

"Marci, hi!" Foggy greets, falsely bright. "Fine, fine, how are- ah, no, what do you-"

Matt listens as Foggy fiddles with his pen, clicking absently, and leans back in his chair.

"Oh, was that tonight?" he asks, voice transparently high. "No, no, no, of course I'm going. I said I would. No I'm not getting  _ ready _ yet, not all of us work for cushy corporate firms, Marce, I've got bills to pay and stupid expensive tickets to bullshit charity things to buy." Matt hears Foggy breathe out quietly, muttering under his breath, "Escorts to hire."

Matt smirks and turns around in his chair, facing Foggy through the window. He thinks, judging by the deep sigh he hears, that Foggy sees him and is not appreciative of Matt's spying.

"Nothing, I didn't say anything," Foggy lies, and then the pen clatters to the desk. "What? No, I didn't ask  _ Karen _ , that would- don't be ridiculous. She'd probably just, like, spend the whole time interrogating all the shady ass politicians that show up to these things. She'd be a horrible date. Anyway, I uh, I'm taking someone else."

Matt raises his eyebrows pointedly and listens as Foggy’s heart rate speeds up gently. 

"Yeah, of course. Back in the saddle, you know me."

Matt hears the creak of Foggy's chair and the smack of his softball landing in his palm. 

"Well it's, uh, it's pretty new. No, no, it's… not serious, yet. I mean, for me. Obviously I can't speak for the other party regarding- No I can't stop being a lawyer, not even for a minute. I have too many student loans. Yes I will see you there, no I will not bitch out. Yes I will be dressed appropriately. My date can wear whatever they want, it's a free country. No you don't get to interrogate anyone."

The softball bounces onto the desk and rolls, coming to a gentle stop against something as Foggy’s chair creaks once more and his feet hit the floor. "Sure," says Foggy, voice soft and warm, "Love you too. See you later."

Matt hears Foggy's phone being set down carefully, and the dull thud of a forehead hitting wood. "Fuck." 

Matt removes his remaining earbud, turns off his computer, and stands, making his way over to the doorway so he can lean against it and observe Foggy's misery more closely. "Bold move," Matt says after a few moments. 

"I'm very stupid and very boned, good buddy," Foggy declares, resigned, and straightens up once more. "It's what I get for trying to win the break-up. No one wins a break-up with Marci Stahl. The mere idea is laughable, she was so far outta my league from the get-go."

Matt frowns. "I mean, the idea of lying to win a break-up is extremely dumb, don't get me wrong, but Marci's not out of your league."

"Super sweet, my friend, but yeah she is. So is Karen, actually. That's probably why God foiled my plans. Flew too close to the sun."

"You think God gave Karen a cold because she was too hot for you to pretend to date?"

"I've been told she works in mysterious ways."

Matt blinks. "Karen?"

"I mean, she's very secretive with her filing system, and who knows where she goes on Wednesdays, but no, God."

"...Right," Matt says after a beat, pushing off from the door frame and knocking his knuckles against it a couple times. "Well, have fun with your competitive break-up nonsense. You should probably get going if you're gonna find a date and get fancy-dressed in time."

"I have the fanciest bowtie," Foggy laments. "I was gonna be so James Bond-ey, and Karen was gonna be so-" Foggy flaps a hand around, warmth and air-currents painting a sloppy picture. "You know, Karen-ey. Now I'm gonna have to miss it and pretend to be in a coma. Ugh. And my poor mysterious date. They're probably gonna die in the car accident that puts me in my coma. How tragic. We were so in love."

"You're flaking?" Matt asks, incredulous. 

"Matt, I have no one, and despite my jokes, I don't even know  _ how _ to hire an escort. It's pointless. I've lost. Marci's gonna show up with her hot surgeon boyfriend and win in a landslide even if I did know how to hire an escort. Her stupidly hot and tall boyfriend who has effortlessly good hair and works at non-profit clinics doing procedures for like, war orphans or whatever, that she started dating, uh, less than a month after I moved out.  _ Ugh." _

Matt wanders over and pats Foggy's shoulder consolingly. Foggy sighs and slumps over, head resting dejectedly against Matt's side, warm and solid through his shirt and his blazer. Matt sniffs, hand resting on Foggy's shoulder with a commiserating squeeze. "He's tall, huh?"

"So tall," Foggy says sadly.

"You know," Matt says, feeling strangely nervous even as the words form in his mouth. "I still have that tux from that stupid thing with Elektra." He feels Foggy stiffen under his hand, and withdraws it immediately, taking a step away.

"What?"

"Uh, nothing."

"No, what? No! No take-backs!"

"I'm not, I mean, what?"

"Are you serious? Were you serious?"

"I, uh, I do have a tux. And, no plans, really. You were gonna fake it with Karen." Matt shrugs awkwardly. "Just, if you still wanted to go. It'd be a shame to waste the tickets."

Foggy doesn't say anything, but Matt can feel him looking at him. "You said… You said there would be food."

Foggy's chair groans as he sits up. His voice is very intense, "Super bougie food, Matt. Caviar."

Matt shrugs. "Okay." He licks his lips. "Do you think Marcie would believe it?

"Um," Foggy starts and then quiets, and Matt hears his heart quicken. "I mean, she will laugh, just, so hard at me for so, so long, but she could probably believe it, yeah. We just gotta sell it a little."

Matt frowns. "Sell it how? And why will she laugh?"

"Oh god, Matt, she's been telling me I'm in love with you since college. As for selling it, I can do that, you just have to stand around looking gorgeous and be tolerant when I fawn. And I  _ will _ fawn."

Matt is quiet, letting Foggy's voice roll over him, brain still processing the words  _ in love with you since college. _

"What are your thoughts on me hand-feeding you canapés?" Foggy asks, voice bright. "Also, are you ready to go?"

"Um," Matt says, and shrugs, and then nods. He lets Foggy take him by the elbow and lead them to the door, listening absently to Foggy retrieving the tickets from their cork board, the snick of Foggy turning the lights off. He takes his coat when Foggy nudges it into his hand. 

"Here ya go. Oh shit, hang on, my tux is here, let me grab it. We'll go straight to yours."

"Sure," Matt says, tugging his coat on and retrieving his cane from the corner by the door. He hears Foggy bump into something and curse quietly. 

"Stupid," Foggy mutters, garment bag rustling. He heads back towards Matt. "Sorry, it's dark."

Matt gives him a little shrug, and Foggy laughs, "Yeah, yeah. C'mon, we've gotta work on our backstory."

"What backstory?"

"Exactly!"

  
  


***

  
  


"Oh no," Foggy says as Matt makes his way out of his room.

Matt pats his chest, making sure nothing is crooked. "What is it?"

"Nothing, man, you look great. I know I've sorta been hitting the escort jokes pretty hard today, but people are definitely gonna think I hired you for the night, if you know what I mean."

Matt snorts. "Marci'll set them straight."

"True," Foggy agrees. "She's wildly aware I can barely afford the cab, let alone a companion of your caliber."

Matt frowns and Foggy nudges him. "Thanks for doing this, man."

"It's really not a big deal," Matt says, shrugging. "I mean, you get first runner-up in a two-person competition and I get caviar."

"First runner-up?" Foggy exclaims, his hands clapping against Matt's shoulders without warning.

"Um, the tall surgeon?" Matt says, lifting a hand to pat at Foggy's where it's gripping his shoulder.

_ "Buddy,"  _ Foggy says significantly. "No offense to Antonio, I'm sure he's a great guy or whatever, but you're hotter and cooler and secretly a ninja, I'm definitely winning."

"First," Matt says, plucking Foggy's hands from his shoulders and gently lowering them. "I'm not really a ninja, but also, they aren't going to know I'm a ninja."

"No but  _ I'll _ know," Foggy says, turning away from him and heading to the couch, gathering their coats from the back of it. "And I'm gonna be smug about it, but they're not gonna know why I'm being smug." He hands Matt his coat, and Matt's hit with a wave of Foggy-scented air as he swings his coat up and around, the soft fwump of the warm fabric falling smoothly down Foggy's arms to rest on his shoulders. "And since they aren't gonna know why I'm smug," he continues, taking Matt's coat back from him and shaking it out, holding it up at shoulder length. "Ready? And since I'm gonna be hand-feeding you sexy rich people food, they're gonna  _ assume _ I'm smug about all the hot sex we're having, so obviously, they're going to think I'm winning." Matt slips an arm into the armhole with minimal fumbling, and turns, putting his other arm in and letting Foggy smooth it down over his shoulders. "Antonio is tall and obnoxiously svelte, but he gives off a kinda vibe like maybe he wouldn't reciprocate oral sex, you know?" 

Matt wheezes and clears his throat, "I didn't know that was even a vibe people can give off."

"It is and he does. He also looks like a bad tipper." Foggy's phone chimes. "Cab's here!"

"Oh," Matt says, blinking. "Is there… Do I give off vibes?"

"Oh yeah," Foggy says easily, as they make their way out of the apartment. "Cane?" he asks as they pass the place where it's leaning against the wall. Matt just shakes his head and tucks a hand in Foggy's elbow.

"What are my vibes?" Matt asks, once the door is locked behind them.

"Well first of all, I know you're a good tipper,” Foggy tells him, voice echoing fondly in the corridor. "Secondly, you also kinda give off vibes that you don't reciprocate oral sex-" Matt sputters but Foggy continues. "But that's mostly because you've kinda got that look about you that you'd be going down town first thing."

Matt almost misses a step. "What does that even  _ mean?" _ Matt asks, laughing and holding tighter to Foggy's arm as they round a landing.

"It means you've got a pretty mouth and a wicked smile, my friend," Foggy tells him cheerfully, patting Matt's hand where it's digging into Foggy's coat.

Matt grins and tilts his head in thought, nudging Foggy into the wall when they reach the next landing. "You've given this some thought." 

"Of course I have. I've been your unnecessary wingman since college. I've honed my craft considerably. Also," Foggy barrels on without giving Matt a chance to reply. "I've constructed an elaborate backstory for our epic romance, by the way."

"Lay it on me," Matt says, wondering if the lighting is good enough in the stairwell to reveal the blush that's forming on his cheeks. He is certainly able to feel the warmth emanating from Foggy.

"Well!" Foggy says, smile evident in his voice. "So it starts like this, we're college roommates, right?" 

Matt grins, leaning into Foggy's shoulder and reaching over to hold onto him with his other arm, too. "Right."

"So there's all this  _ tension, _ see? Like, a palpable connection, but we don't act on it in college."

"Obviously not, that could have been awkward."

"Right!" Foggy agrees, pushing open the door to the lobby. 

"So then what happens?"

"So after college we get these internships at this evil, soulless corporate firm."

"Obviously," Matt says, letting go of Foggy's arm with one hand and pulling open the door to the building.

"But get this, we share a shitty closet that they tell us is an office, and we aren't living together anymore, but we're still in each other's pockets, and we keep each other sane amidst the callous and diabolical dealings of the evil firm." Foggy opens the cab door and Matt slides in, scooting over, listening as Foggy flops down next to him and gathers his coat around his knees, slamming the door behind himself.

He gives the driver directions and then settles back with a sigh. "Where was I?"

"We were being each other's only bastion of serenity amidst the crushing weight of corporate litigation."

"Right, right," Foggy says, and scoops Matt's hand up, pulling it into his lap. "This okay?"

"Verisimilitude," Matt says, throat suddenly dry. He squeezes Foggy's fingers and settles his hand more comfortably in Foggy's lap. 

"Cool," Foggy says and clears his throat. "So, okay, we're working in the closet, slowly dying on the inside, and sometimes the only good thing that happens in the whole day is just being near each other."

"Sounds exhausting but kind of romantic," Matt says with a soft smile. He traces a thumb over the back of Foggy's hand.

"Oh, it is." Foggy squeezes Matt's hand. "But this is not where we confess our love."

"No?"

"No. But we do run away together."

"Gasp," Matt says, grinning at Foggy's chuckle. "Then what happens?"

"Well, we start our own firm."

"Super romantic," Matt points out.

"Nothing says love and devotion like obtaining massive debt and a business license together."

"That's what I keep telling people," Matt says.

Foggy shrugs, the fabric of his coat rustling against Matt's shoulder. "Worked for my parents."

Matt grins and tips his head back against the seat. "What happens next."

"Just some boring stuff where we use the power of friendship and our giant amazing law brains to put a criminal kingpin behind bars, then some more boring things happen with some weird immortality ninja cult, you rekindle a toxic relationship with a zombie, everyone thinks you're dead 'cause a building falls on you. I wind up getting back together with an old college girlfriend because she's the only person in the world who still expects me to be a fully functioning adult after you die, yadda yadda."

Matt doesn't say anything, just keeps squeezing Foggy's hand, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart in the relative quiet of the cab.

_ "Then," _ Foggy says, his whole body swaying with emphasis, "You come  _ back _ to life, we have an emptional reunion in which you do  _ not _ pickpocket me, we work on our various personal traumas, and we re-put that dumb criminal kingpin behind bars, again using the power of friendship and our giant law brains."

Matt licks his lips, lowering his chin when Foggy doesn't keep going. "Sounds, uh, sounds good. Is that- is that when the romance starts?"

Foggy takes a deep breath, his free hand coming over, one finger tapping absently at Matt's thumb where it's tucked over Foggy's knuckles. "Not exactly. I'm still dating the only gal in New York that doesn't think of me as a sidekick."

Matt slumps a little at that, leaning over to rest his cheek on Foggy's shoulder. "She's dumb for ever letting you go, but she's right about you being amazing."

Foggy shrugs. "We wind up realizing we'd never make it in the long run, she starts dating some dude from Doctors With Disorders-"

"Without Borders," Matt groans, nudging Foggy.

He ignores it. "And I wind up back with you."

"Romantically or professionally?"

"Just professionally at first."

Matt hums, leaning into Foggy as the cab turns a corner. "So how does it change?"

"Oh, well, one day, out of the blue, you confess your undying love for me."

Matt grins. "What do I say?"

"So you come up to me, right? This is at the office, by the way-"

"Is Karen there?"

"Our illustrious investigator-slash-office manager-slash-freelance journalist is nowhere to be found."

"So it's a Wednesday."

"It's a Wednesday," Foggy agrees. "You come up to me - I'm at my desk, just FYI - you come up to me, and you get down on your knees."

Matt snorts.

"You're very catholic, and very dramatic," Foggy explains, "And this is just the type of thing that you do. So you're on your knees, and you turn your face up to me and you take my hand, and you say 'I, blind, tragically catholic Matt Murdock, must confess my feelings to you.'"

Matt snorts and turns his face into Foggy's shoulder, shaking with laughter.

"'I have been,'" Foggy continues in his strangely breathy Matt-voice, "'In lust with you since college, in love with you since L and Z, and in debt with you since shortly thereafter. Will you, Franklin "Foggy" "Always Reciprocates Oral Sex" Nelson, be my, uh, hmm… My boo.'"

"Boo?" Matt squeaks out, rubbing his cheek against Foggy's shoulder as he turns his head to breathe better.

"Uhm... bae," Foggy tries again, voice wobbly with laughter.

"Luh-" Matt lifts his head and cocks it curiously. "Lover?"

"Snuggle muffin!"

"Snuggle muffin!" Matt agrees. "Oh! I brought you a muffin. I bring one. As a, uh, as a courting gift."

"What kinda muffin?" 

"Uh… Oh, um, lemon. Lemon poppy seed."

"Oooh," Foggy says happily as the cab slows to a stop. "I accept!"

"Uh," says the cab driver, leather squeaking as he shifts, "We're here, fellas."

  
  


***

  
  


"Oh no," Foggy says under his breath as they make their way into the hotel.

"What's the matter?" Matt asks.

"It's way snootier than I'd imagined. They're gonna clock me for a fake in like twelve seconds."

"A fake what? You bought tickets."

"A fake fancy lad, obviously."

"What about me? I'm a raggedy catholic orphan."

"Yeah but you look like a model. Ugh, where's Marci, she'll protect us," Foggy hisses to him, just as a man asks for their tickets. 

Someone takes their coats shortly after that, and Matt is grateful for the warmth of Foggy's body bleeding through his clothes as he holds onto his arm and listens for Marci. 

"She's either not here yet, or she's being very quiet," Matt decides.

"Not here yet," Foggy diagnoses morosely. Foggy describes the tastefully ornate decor as they navigate towards the food smells. "Let's go find appetizers. These tickets were ridiculous, if the food's not amazing I'm gonna sue."

"You'd sue a charity?"

"It's borderline extortion." Foggy shrugs. "Oh look, champagne."

Matt sniffs the flute Foggy hands him suspiciously, and allows himself to be led to a table covered in decent-smelling finger-food. 

"What's good?"

"Whatever the cheesy thing is, over on the right."

"Mm, cheese."

Matt's eyes wander as he listens, setting the champagne on the table without drinking it while Foggy’s searching for the cheesy thing. He shifts his grip on Foggy's arm, fingers rubbing absently. "Incoming," he says, as someone approaches meaningfully. Foggy turns them, facing his fate head on.

"Julie, hi."

"Franklin!"

Matt scrunches his nose up.

"This is my um, Matt. Matthew Murdock. Matt, this is Julie Devereux."

Matt puts a smile on and takes his hand off Foggy's elbow, holding it out to shake. "How do you do?"

"I do just fine, thank you," Julie says, and Matt can practically hear the oil slick in her smile as her cool fingers grip his loosely. "You wouldn't happen to be Franklin's ex-business partner, would you, Matthew?"

"Ah," Foggy says, and clears his throat.

Matt retracts his hand and wraps it casually around Foggy's waist, giving him a little squeeze. "We're actually no longer exes," Matt says, feeling his lips curl up in what he hopes looks like a smile. "In any sense of the word."

"I  _ see," _ Julie says.

Matt hums, keeping the might-be-a-smile on his face. "We were about to sample some hor d'oeuvres, will you be joining us?" he asks, very proud of the way his tone indicates that he in no way wants her to join them.

"Ah, no, thank you," she says, her heels clicking as she shifts in place. "I've got to be getting back to my group. It was a pleasure seeing you, Franklin. We were all a bit worried when you left to strike out on your own, doing… whatever it is you're doing."

"I'm not on my own," Foggy says, and Matt's smile-adjacent expression turns into something much more real. He drops his arm from Foggy's waist and tangles their fingers together. "We're doing what we always wanted to," Foggy continues, giving Matt's hand a little shake. "Helping people."

"Of course," Julie says, an ooze to her vowels that Matt wants to bare his teeth at. She walks away after a frosty goodbye, and Matt feels his shoulders lose some of their tension. 

"Well," Foggy says significantly. 

Matt humphs out a breath through his nose and tugs Foggy towards the food smells. "There's something shrimpy that smells good; help me find it." He lets go of Foggy's hand and slides his palm up the inside of Foggy's arm, until he can curl his fingers around Foggy's triceps through his sleeve. He sniffs conspicuously and waves a hand at a section of the table. "Here-ish."

"Hmm," Foggy says, "Oh there's little cards. Green olive tapenade?"

Matt wrinkles his nose.

"Alright, alright… oh, here, shrimp." 

Matt holds out a flat palm and Foggy places some sort of cracker on it for him. 

"It's like an inch and a half high, maybe?" Foggy says. 

Matt tilts his head back and slides the whole thing in his mouth. It is, indeed, shrimpy. "Hey," Matt says after swallowing most of it. "You were supposed to feed me."

"I did!" Foggy objects, mouth full of something olivey.

"Hand feed me canapés," Matt says, voice parroty and high. "So much for our epic love," Matt grumbles. "Can't even feed me a-"

"Alright, alright, hold on."

Matt grins and listens as Foggy hums thoughtfully. 

"Okay," he says after a moment. "This is a crunchy little bread thing with some creamy cheese stuff, a sprig of green whatever, and prosciutto shaped kinda like a rose. One bite, hold still."

Matt stills and opens his mouth.

“Little wider,” Foggy says softly, and Matt complies. The bread hits his senses first, savory, dry, and crumbly against his tongue as he closes his lips, catching the tips of Foggy’s thumb and forefinger at the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh, uh, hmm,” Foggy says softly as he withdraws his fingers. 

Matt smiles, absently noting the flavors and textures of the food as he chews, more focused on the heat coming from Foggy’s general direction and way the muscles of his arm have tensed slightly under his touch, the sudden thrum of his heart. “Delicious,” he says, once he swallows. 

“Yeah,” Foggy agrees, though he hasn’t tried anything new. Matt tilts his head at the breathy quality of Foggy’s voice, and the abrupt way he swallows.

“You alright?”

“Me? I’m fine. We’re killing it. Getting lots of super jelly looks from people I don’t remember the names of.” 

“Oh,” Matt says. “That’s good.” A steady set of footsteps, a man’s, expensive Italian shoes, is heading towards them. Matt squeezes Foggy’s arm, swaying closer and murmuring under his breath. “There’s a man heading our way, three o’clock. Anyone you know?”

Foggy hums and turns discreetly. “I mean, not personally, that’s the guy Karen’s after,” Foggy whispers, turning towards Matt and ducking close. “The Parsley guy. Super shady. Possibly was in Fisk’s pocket but no one ever proved anything.”

Matt wrinkles his nose at the news, but straightens up and evens out his expression when the man gets close enough to clear his throat meaningfully. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the man says, voice booming and brash in a way that puts Matt immediately on edge. The cologne wafting off of him mixes sourly with his natural scent. 

“Senator Parsons,” Foggy says, his shmooze voice firmly in place. “Nice to see you here. Can we help you with anything?”

“I’m trying to place you, son,” Parsons says, and Matt can hear a soft thwump indicating he’s rocked forward and settled back on his heels again. “I never forget a face, you see, and yours is familiar, but I can’t seem to remember why.”

Matt crowds slightly closer to Foggy, an odd possessive feeling settling over him. 

“Franklin Nelson, sir,” Foggy says. His sleeve whispers and Matt hears a faint clap of skin and the creak of a too-tight handshake. “And this is my partner Matthew Murdock.”

“Nope,” the man declares. “That’s not doing it. You ever work at the state senate building?”

“Foggy briefly ran for District Attorney a few months ago,” Matt says, not bothering to hold out his own hand. 

“Hmm,” Parsons says, contemplative. “Lost, huh? Good campaign is hard to run these days. Takes a lot of the right kind of funding. You shou-”

“Actually his numbers were very promising, especially for a write-in candidate that entered late in the game,” Matt cuts him off. “He dropped out once it was no longer necessary.”

“Necessary?” 

Foggy laughs nervously, squeezing Matt’s fingers between his arm and his ribs warningly. “It’s a long story, actually, maybe we could-”

“Wilson Fisk,” Matt says sharply, tamping down a smile when Parsons’s heart rate rockets up. “Foggy was a target, and he put himself in the public eye to lower the chances of Fisk disposing of him quietly.”

Parsons is quiet for a moment, and Matt feels a little guilty at ignoring Foggy’s whispered,  _ “Matt.”  _ but Parsons is sweating, and rude, and Matt doesn’t like the way he squeezed Foggy’s hand.

“Foggy dropped out once we were able to put him back behind bars.” 

Parsons’s heart doesn’t seem to be slowing at all. “That’s quite the story, young man.” 

Matt grins, baring his teeth. “We’re pretty tenacious when we need to be.” He gives Foggy’s arm a squeeze and turns towards him. “Parsons… I remember you now. Eleventh district, right? You ran unopposed in the last election. I wondered how you managed that, given your stances on certain issues.”

“Son,” Parsons says, warning clear in his tone. “I appreciate your so-called tenacity, but you’re very young, and no doubt lacking the experience to know that tenacity without circumspection can be a dangerous thing.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Matt says, because he may be a raggedy orphan but he does know he can’t just tell a state senator to go fuck himself in the middle of a charity event. “Good evening, Senator,” he says, and makes no move to walk away.

Parsons hums, and, after a few long beats, turns in his expensive shoes and walks away.

“Dammit, Matty,” Foggy hisses once Parsons is out of earshot. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt says, holding onto Foggy's arm when he moves to step away. "I'm sorry, he's just-"

"A bad guy, yeah, I gathered," Foggy whispers, letting Matt pull him around until their heads are ducked together. "Which is kinda why I wanted to stay off his damn radar."

Matt huffs out a breath. "I'm sorry," he says again, reaching up his free hand to Foggy's chest, patting it and then smoothing down the center of his shirt. "I won't uh, I won't piss off any other crooked politicians tonight, I promise."

"You better not," Foggy grumbles, sniffing. "I need more champagne."

"You guys are disgusting," a familiar voice says from the other side of the food table. "Did you somehow become even more codependent since the last time I saw you?"

Matt tips his head back and turns his body away from Foggy's. "I don't know, when's the last time you saw us?" 

"Good evening, Miss Jones," Foggy says, voice resigned. "You're looking lovely."

"I look hungover and like I snuck in through the kitchens," she corrects. "What were you doing talking to that dick weasel?"

"Making ourselves targets, mostly," Foggy says.

"He's dirty," Matt says. "In deep with Fisk and who knows what else."

"You got proof?"

Matt shrugs, listening to a pair of approaching heels.

"Super helpful, thanks."

"What are you doing here, Jones?" Marci asks in a bored tone.

"I'm talking to my lawyer, what are you doing here?"

"Networking, showing off my new dress, wondering why you’re standing by the hor d'oeuvres with what seems to be vomit on your shirt.”

Matt hears Jessica’s hair shift as she looks down, smells old liquor and cigarette smoke and the hint of what is, indeed, vomit. “Huh,” she says. 

“Please leave,” Marci says, words polite and tone lined with steel.

“Keep an ear out for me, Murdock.” Matt feels the air around Jones shift as she jerks her chin, and hears her shove her fists in the pockets of her leather jacket. “See ya around, Nelson.”

“Always a pleasure,” Foggy says brightly as Jones slinks away. 

“Foggy Bear,” Marci wastes neither time nor warmth as she rounds on Foggy. Matt shuffles closer and tries to look non-threatening.

“Yes, Miss Stahl?”

“This is a charity function, not a vehicle for political intrigue, not a place to take client meetings.”

“Understood.”

“Also,” Marci says, tone turning worryingly suspicious. “I thought you were bringing a date, not your college roommate.”

“Well, about that-” Foggy starts, while Matt furls his brow. 

“Hang on, uh, college roommate? We’ve definitely progressed past that, I mean, we’re adults now-”

“You see, Matt and I uh-”

“You could have gone with business partner at least-”

“We actually- that is, Matt kind of  _ is _ , uh, my date.”

“We’re best friends! College  _ room _ mate?” 

“Oh dear  _ god,” _ Marci says, in the same sort of tone one might expect her to use if she had walked in on her parents having sex or stepped in dog shit. “You’re not serious.” 

“Well,” Foggy says, voice high and shrug annoyingly apologetic.

“I need a drink.”

Matt points, disgruntled, to where he’d set his champagne down earlier. 

“When did this happen?” Marci asks, striding over to the table and swiping up the champagne. 

“Last Wednesday,” Matt says, eyebrows raising as he listens to Marci tilt her head back and down the entire flute. He’s impressed and slightly insulted.

_ “Foggy,” _ Marci says plaintively, once she’s set the flute back down on the table and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. 

“What?”

Matt feels the air around them shift as Marci makes a few sharp movements with her arms, clearly indicating Matt in some sort of derogatory way. 

“Stop that,” Foggy says, flapping his own hand. 

“Look,” Matt says, frustrated and a little angry. “What does it matter to you?”

“Um,” Marci says, and Matt hears the little wave of an incredulous head shake shiver through her sweet-smelling hair. “I care about him?”

“Um,” Matt wiggles his own head. “Get in line?”

“Oh my god are you guys fighting over me right now?”

“No!” Marci says, at the same time Matt tugs him into his side and barks out a sharp, “Yes!”

“Can I speak to you in private for a moment?” Marci asks, her voice sharp and sweet and terrifying. Matt hears her sidle up to Foggy and grab his other arm.

“Uh,” Foggy says, and turns to Matt, who lets his arm go and raises his hands, arms bent at the elbows and palms out, trying to keep the smirk off his lips. 

“Be my guest,” Matt says, stepping closer to the table. 

Foggy sighs and lets Marci lead them away from him. 

Not far enough that he can’t hear them, obviously. Matt turns to the table and pretends to contemplate the food, listening as Marci yanks Foggy to a stop and hisses. 

“What the hell?”

“What?” 

“Matt? Really? The guy that pretended to be dead to get out of a friendship?”

“That’s not… wholly accurate.”

“Look,” Marci sighs, and Matt frowns at the sincerity in her voice. “I know how you feel about the guy, Foggy Bear, but-”

“No, Marce, honestly, you don’t have to worry. I’m being careful.”

“You can’t be careful with Murdock. You’re incapable of it. That’s why he’s so dangerous.”

“He wouldn’t-” Foggy starts, then sighs and starts over. “He’s not gonna hurt me. It’s fine.”

“He won’t? Why not? What’s different now?” 

Matt feels a blush spreading, across his chest and down his cheeks, and he reaches out, fingers sticking into something soft and cold. He picks it up, some sort of pate on a cracker, and shoves it into his mouth, chewing mechanically and feeling along the edge of the table, smearing whatever it is over the table cloth until he finds a stack of napkins.

“He’s not going to… do that, again. We’ve worked it out. He’s doing better and I’m doing better and we’re doing fine together. It’s not a big deal. It’s not… serious. It’s just some fun. Honestly.”

Matt twists a small stack of napkins around his fingers one at a time, breathing heavily through his nose and wondering why Foggy’s words are making his stomach feel so tight.

“Oh Foggy Bear.”

Matt drops the napkins and holds onto the edge of the table. 

“I love you,” Foggy says, sounding strangely apologetic. Matt stops focusing when he hears them hug, turning his senses towards the rest of the room. 

Most of the voices and people are unfamiliar to him, but he hears Parsons somewhere off to the left, in another, more private room, telling someone off on the phone.

He hears the name Fisk, and he's so intent on listening in that he doesn't catch Marci coming up behind him until she taps him on the shoulder.

He starts, gasping in a breath, but Marci doesn't seem to care. "Listen, Murdock. I don't know what sort of game you're playing, if you are playing a game, but I figured I should let you know."

Matt lifts his chin to indicate he's listening. 

"I don't know what makes him so good at forgiveness," she says, low and close to his ear. "Whatever gene he has that allows him to put up with people like us?" She bends close, and Matt can smell the champagne, sweet and dry on her breath, and the waxiness of her lipstick. "I don't have it."

Matt nods, once. 

"You okay?" Foggy's voice cuts through the roaring in Matt's ears. He straightens up, listening to the aborted chime of crystal hitting a ring, the tinkling splash as Foggy hands off the full champagne flute to Marci. "Matt?" Foggy asks, one warm hand sliding up Matt's back. 

"Huh?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Stay away from the pate," he jokes weakly.

"Right," Foggy says, voice flat. 

"Well," Marci says, louder than she needs to. "I'm going to go mingle. See you crazy kids later."

"Hey, Marce," Foggy calls before she gets more than a few steps away. 

"Hm?"

"Where's uh, Doc McDreamy?"

Marci gives a surprisingly inelegant snort. "Who cares? He was pretty, but when it came to certain aspects of our relationship he was… sorely lacking."

"Ah," Foggy says. 

Matt raises an eyebrow.

Marci tosses her hair over a shoulder with a flick of movement and a waft of expensive shampoo. "Bye boys. Play nice."

Matt inclines his head, slightly, and listens to the clack of her heels recede.

“Sorry about that,” Foggy sighs. 

Matt shrugs, absently reaching out to hook an arm around Foggy’s. “She cares about you. That’s a good thing.” He flashes a grin. “She’s a lot scarier when she doesn’t care about you, believe me.” 

Foggy snorts, rocking into him as they wander away from the food table. “You’re not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of hurting you,” Matt blurts before he can really think about it. 

“So don’t,” Foggy says easily, heart steady and true. 

  
  


***

  
  


“Oh no,” Foggy says as they reach the auction area. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“What’s up?” Matt asks. 

“It’s all like, weekends in the Hamptons and ugly jewelry.”

“How ugly?” Matt asks, curious. 

“Like, uh, like giant gaudy shit. Looks fake.” Matt feels him bend low to read something, muttering to himself. “Minimum bid fiv- Five  _ thousand _ ? Jesus. Oh look, a baseball. Oh, it’s signed.”

“By whom?” Matt asks.

“It’s a buncha squiggles,” Foggy tells him. “The 1991 Mets. Their squiggles are worth a minimum of four hundred dollars, apparently.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to appreciate it,” Matt says as they meander farther.

“Nah,” Foggy dismisses. “I can get you a new one for a couple of bucks. Oh shit, abort, abort,” Foggy urges quietly, tugging Matt around and speeding up in a different direction. 

“Hey NELSON!” a voice calls, and Matt feels Foggy go stiff next to him. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Foggy sighs, and slowly turns them back around. “Hi Craig,” Foggy says at a more normal level, resignation clear in his tone. 

Matt blinks as Foggy is accosted by a man who is taller and wider than either of them. The sound of enthusiastic back-pats fills the air and Matt is pushed out of Foggy’s space, keeping oriented with the brush of fingertips against Foggy’s sleeve. 

“What’s up, man?” the guy asks once he’s released Foggy, holding out a fist towards Matt. 

Matt ignores it willfully and tilts his head towards Foggy, holding onto his arm once again. 

“Uh, Matt, this is Craig Barlowe, Craig, this is Matt Murdock. He’s blind, dude, go ahead and put your hand down.”

“Oh shit,” Craig says, dropping his hand. “Sorry guy.”

“It’s fine,” Matt says. 

“So what’s up with you, Nelson? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I- I left the firm, Craig.”

“What? When?”

“Literally months ago.”

“No shit?”

“Yes shit,” Foggy tells him. “Matt and I restarted Nelson and Murdock.”

“Oh!” Craig says, “You’re partners!” He laughs, clapping Foggy on the shoulder. “I thought you might be like,  _ partner _ partners, you know?”

“We are,” Matt says with a bland smile. “Partners and  _ part _ ner partners.” 

“Oh shit,” Craig says, and he holds up a fist again, this time for Foggy to bump. “Right on.” 

Matt feels Foggy hesitate, but he eventually meets Craig’s fist with his own, though Craig is the only one of the two who makes an explosion noise with his mouth when he pulls his hand back. 

“Well,” Foggy says after a beat of silence. “We’re gonna,” he shrugs and tilts his chin. 

“Oh yeah, don’t let me keep you. It was nice to meet you, Murdock.”

“Likewise,” Matt says, tipping his head down in a nod and following when Foggy sidesteps Craig and heads off.

Matt waits until he can hear Craig greeting someone else just as enthusiastically as he had greeted Foggy before giggling a little and shaking Foggy’s arm. “Well,” he says, smiling. “He’s a… _ lot.” _

“Yeah,” Foggy says, and Matt can hear his pulse pick up a little and his hair swish as he looks around. He changes direction slightly and pulls them into a recessed area behind a large potted plant. 

“What’s-”

“You don’t have to,” Foggy cuts Matt’s question off. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. I mean, Marci isn’t even with whatshisface, and most people will just assume at this point.”

Matt blinks. 

“You don’t have to lie anymore. We can just be business partners.” 

Carefully disengaging himself from Foggy’s arm, Matt takes a step back, until he brushes the wall of the alcove. “Do you- Did I do something?”

“No!” Foggy says, gratifyingly quickly. He reaches a hand out, brushing it over Matt’s elbow before it drops again. “No, that’s not- It’s just, I don’t want you to have to lie. There’s nothing really to win, and, and it was maybe kind of stupid to start with. I put you in a shitty position and I don’t -”

“Foggy shut up for a second,” Matt urges, turning and pressing his ear to the wall behind him.

“What is it?” Foggy whispers, stepping closer. 

“It’s Parsons,” Matt says, listening carefully. “He’s in a hotel room, talking about us. He’s… He’s telling someone to keep an eye on us.” Matt makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. “He called us pansies.”

Foggy snorts. 

“He’s… He’s very shady, Fogs.”

“Yeah no shit, you know what else is shady? You with your ear pressed up against the wall. People are gonna wonder, Matty.”

Matt rolls his eyes and reaches out, grabbing Foggy by the lapels and tugging him close. “Come here.”

Foggy shuffles closer at Matt’s insistence, bracing his hands against the wall when Matt doesn’t stop pulling him in. “What-”

“Now we’re just two pansies necking behind the ficus,” Matt reasons with a grin, turning his head to focus once more on Parsons. 

“First of all,” Foggy grumbles, “It’s not a ficus.”

“Hush, and loosen up, you’re being conspicuous.” 

“It’s a fiddle leaf fig plant, Matt,” Foggy says defiantly, and Matt tilts his head back against the wall and wraps a hand around the back of Foggy’s head, pulling at it until Foggy’s face is tucked into Matt’s neck.

Foggy’s hands come down to rest tentatively at Matt’s waist, and he huffs an annoyed breath into Matt’s throat. 

Matt suppresses a shiver and listens to Parsons talk about a meeting later, about a shipment. He taps at Foggy’s shoulders. “Move around a little.”

“God you’re the  _ worst,”  _ Foggy whispers, voice pained, and fists his hands into Matt’s clothes, tugging at Matt’s hips and nosing behind Matt’s ear. 

“We need to call Brett,” Matt says, breathless, tilting his jaw up to give Foggy more room. He slides his palms over Foggy’s back, restless, pressing him close while trying to focus on Parson’s angry tones however many rooms away he is. “Something’s happening tonight at the docks.”

“Could he  _ be _ more of a cliche?” Foggy murmurs, scratching his chin over the skin just above Matt’s collar. 

"Maybe Jones would be better," Matt says, fingers trailing over the fine weave of Foggy's tux. "This is- there might be cops involved."

Foggy lets out a frustrated noise, something almost like a growl, and it rumbles its way into Matt's skin.

“Foggy,” Matt breathes, slumping against the wall. 

“Yeah?” Foggy asks, fingers kneading at Matt’s hips, lips brushing Matt’s earlobe. 

“Foggy, shit,” 

“What is it?” 

“Excuse me, sirs?”

Foggy freezes against him and Matt lets out an embarrassing little noise, fingers going stiff where they’re curled around Foggy’s shoulder blades. 

“Yes?” Matt asks, going for innocent and missing by a mile.

“Sirs could you, uh, exit the alcove?”

Matt pats Foggy’s shoulder awkwardly as they separate, and Foggy’s voice is tight and high even after he clears his throat. “We’ll uh, we’ll see ourselves out.”

“That might be best, sir.”

  
  


***

  
  


“Oh,” Foggy says, as Matt tries to help him with his coat. “No thanks, you’ve helped enough, buddy.”

Matt shrugs his own coat on meekly and doesn’t bother holding onto Foggy’s elbow as they leave. “I mean,” Matt says after a little while, “You definitely won the breakup?” 

“Everyone thinks I’m a pervert, Matt.”   
  


“They think you’re passionate,” Matt argues. “Which, to be fair, you wanted them to assume.”

“Yeah, I wanted them to assume, not have video evidence.”

Matt stops for a second on the sidewalk. “You think someone recorded it?” he asks, jogging a little to catch up.

“It was a room full of lawyers and politicians. Someone definitely recorded it. Curb.”

Matt steps hard off the curb and Foggy holds out his elbow. 

“Thanks,” Matt says, taking it but carefully keeping his distance. He already misses the closeness they’d shared the rest of the night. The warmth of Foggy’s body, solid, next to his. “I'm going to talk to Jess, assuming she answers her phone. You need to talk Brett, just tell him something’s going down tonight at the docks.” 

“Oh  _ I _ need to talk to Brett. I suppose you’re going to go down there in your stupid black pajamas?”

“I mean,” Matt shrugs. “They’re not my actual pajamas. I tend to sleep in my underwear.”

Foggy lets out a strangled laugh, and then sighs. “Alright. Whatever. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.” 

Foggy slows to a stop and elbows Matt gently in the side. “Hold your arm out.”

Matt holds his arm out towards the street and hears a car slow down. 

Foggy steps close and opens the door of the cab, turning back before he ducks inside. “We’ll go to yours and then I’ll talk to Brett. You’re lucky I love you.”

Matt grins. “I know.”

The cab ride is quiet, with Matt whispering all the details he can recall to Foggy and Foggy interrupting with smart questions Matt mostly doesn’t know the answer to. By the time the cab rolls to a stop outside Matt’s building Foggy is leaning into him again, their heads ducked together as Foggy elicits one final promise to be careful from Matt.

“Call me, when you’re done. Or come over, even. Unless you’re dying, in which case, call Claire or 911 and  _ then _ call me.”

“Sure, Fogs.”

"And please,  _ please _ be careful."   
  


"I will."

"So careful. Careful like you wouldn't-"

Matt grabs Foggy's hand up from where it's resting on the seat between them. Foggy stops talking and squeezes Matt's fingers. "I had a really nice time tonight," Matt says, heart thrumming at the implications of his own words. 

Foggy huffs out a laugh. 

Matt swallows, anxious to be out there doing something, helping, but unwilling to leave Foggy just yet. He turns Foggy's hand over in his, curling his fingers and tracing over the backs of Foggy's knuckles. "We should," he says, then stops to clear his throat. "We should do it again sometime."

Foggy’s heart, already faster than normal with anxiety, picks up, along with his breathing. "Matt…”

“Don’t- It’s- It’s okay if you don’t want to, Fogs,” Matt says quietly, noting that the cab driver has held his breath to hear them better. “I’ve got to go.” 

“What-”

Matt feels for the door handle, raising the hand still holding Foggy’s up to his mouth. He presses a quick kiss, dry and glancing, across Foggy’s knuckles, and lets him go, opening the door. “Goodnight.”

“Matty! Dammit-”

Matt slides out and closes the door against Foggy’s protests, not that it stops the sounds of Foggy’s cursing from following him up to the door of his building, and inside the lobby. 

Foggy is commiserating with the cab driver by the time Matt reaches his apartment, and he loses track of the conversation as the cab drives out of range. 

Matt grins all the way through his talk with a grumpy, half-drunk Jessica Jones, and the entire time it takes him to suit up.

  
  


***

  
  


“Oh,” Matt says, blinking as the warmth of the morning sun hits his skin. “Oh no. Jones-” He nudges Jessica, who is lying next to him on the concrete and catching her breath. 

“Ngh, what?” 

“What time is it?” 

“I don’t know,” she groans, rolling over and sitting up, jeans and boots squelching with the movement. “Too late to hold hands and watch the sunrise with me, Horny, sorry.”

“Fuck,” Matt says, patting his wet pockets. “Do you, is your phone-”

“Chucked it at that one guy’s head, sorry.”

Matt slumps, and then pushes himself to his knees before fumbling to his feet. “I gotta go. You okay?”

Jessica waves a dismissive hand at him. “Go get your man, I’ll make sure Parsons doesn’t make a run for it.”

Matt stills, head cocking. 

“I’m an investigator,” she tells him dryly, before he can ask anything. “But also you’re really fucking obvious.”

Matt lets that sink in for a moment, before deciding he kind of likes the idea. He gives her a grin, aware of the blood on his teeth, and jogs away to the sound of her laughter. 

“Take a shower first!” She calls. “You really are disgusting!”

Matt makes it home in record time and leaves his Daredevil outfit on the floor of the shower, trying to rinse some of the river water and blood out of it as he brushes his teeth with one hand and scrubs a washrag over his body with the other. He tells his phone to dial Foggy as soon as he’s out, leaving it on speaker as he pulls on his clothes, and Foggy answers after one ring. 

_ “Matt?” _

“I’m fine!” Matt says immediately, “Jones is fine, Brett is fine, Parsons is not fine. Where are you?”

_ “I’m… at the office. I couldn’t sleep so I decided to work. Listen, Matt-” _

“Don’t go anywhere,” Matt tells him, hopping into his pants. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”   
  


_ “That’s… Yeah alright.” _

“Okay,” Matt says, leaning over and tapping the screen of his phone by the bottom left corner, taking it off speaker as he brings it up to his ear. “Okay, good. I’ll be there soon.”

_ “Right.” _

“Foggy?”

_“Yeah?”_

Matt listens to Foggy’s breathing, mind racing and stomach fluttering. “Just…”

_“I know,”_ Foggy says, quiet.

“Yeah?”

_ “Yeah.” _

Matt grins. “Kay. Twenty minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, Matt is almost to the office when he smells something that makes him slow his power-walk. It’s the bakery around the corner from the office, warm, sweet smells wafting pleasantly down the sidewalk.

He veers from his course and shows up to the office a few minutes late, holding a lemon poppy seed muffin.

***

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments are loved ❤


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